The Princess and the Dogs
by Quill and Saber
Summary: An EomerLothíriel fic. What happens when you put two people in ruling positions who don't know how to rule? Trying to remedy the situation could prove interesting. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. The Economy is Going to the Dogs

**Chapter One: The Economy is Going to the Dogs**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any other Tolkien work which lends itself to this work. I did not make any money off of this work. Don't try suing me; I am a high-school student (without a job), and the most you could get off of me is four hundred dollars, which will not even cover court costs.

_Rating_: At Teen for now, to be safe. Any complaints or suggestions about rating should be sent in a review (I take anonymous reviews). It should not go into Mature, and will actually probably go down.

_Pairings_: Éomer/ Lothíriel, Aragorn/ Arwen, Legolas/ OC (but they won't enter hardly)

_Explainations_: I will tell you up front I will be using the term "bitch." However, it will be used in the strictest, dog-breeding sense and I am using it because it is the true, correct term for the female of the domestic canine species. If even that bothers you, I advise you to leave. Now.

* * *

Éomer never thought he'd ever be King of the Mark; that was supposed to be Théodred's job. 

"Do not delude yourself, cousin. Our country does not have a good record for having the firstborn sons of kings actually inheriting their father's positions. You may be king yet," Théodred had once told him, long ago, once Éomer had stated firmly that his destiny was to be a Marshal. Actually, he technically _was_ a Marshal still- First Marshal of the Mark, another title for the King. But sitting next to the High King of Gondor at one of the Gondorian councils was not helping him maintain that one position which he didn't feel bewildered by.

Éomer was cursing himself over and over as the Royal Treasurer droned on. He had not bothered to learn about those sorts of things when he was certain he was to be only a Marshal. True, he did learn arithmetic at his lessons as a boy, but that was hardly sufficient to cover the economic future of a country. It was actually hardly enough to cover the property needs of a Third Marshal!

Apparently Aragorn hadn't the slightest idea what was going on either. Éomer had noticed, through a week of observation, the twitch that Aragorn got above his right eye every time someone said anything about "per capita" or used any other foul economic term that sailed right over his head like an arrow. However, Aragorn had a legion of people behind him who did know what "per capita" meant whom he could ask as soon as this evil council session ended. Unfortunately, none of the "educated" Rohirrim had come to Minas Tirith with the soldiers, and Éomer personally doubted that he'd be able to find someone who really knew finance from his people anytime soon, which was someone that was becoming increasingly evident that he needed to find before his country went up in fiscal flame.

The meeting dragged onwards until the council chamber became too dark for the scribe to take notes—meaning that it was sometime quite late in the afternoon. Éomer gratefully stood from his rigid stone chair. If people were meant to sit in those chairs for so long, why weren't they more comfortable?

"According to Imrahil, these chairs used to have cushions, but they were taken out during Denethor's stewardship, as they were not used." Aragorn smiled slightly, answering Éomer's mental question. It was a bit unnerving that Aragorn could see those questions, but it helped avoid complex situations. "It seems we both need a thorough education in the financial side of governance."

Éomer cocked an eyebrow. "Do you suggest we become the oldest people in history to hire tutors for our own sake?"

Aragorn shrugged. "If we manage to learn everything we seem to need to know by doing so, I believe we can outlive the stigma."

"Outlive what stigma?" Arwen seemed to suddenly appear. Éomer shook himself; he would never get used to people appearing and disappearing at will.

"We are having problems with the Royal Treasurer," said Aragorn bluntly. "He refuses—politely, of course—to use terms we can understand."

Arwen laughed delicately. "My lords, I am sure you could find someone who can tell you all about the fiscal management of a country who would not laugh at you for ignorance without searching too hard. The Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth might be a good person to ask. During the last few years, she tells me she managed her father's as well as her late uncle's estates. In Gondor, the estates are mostly run by the women of the household."

Éomer scoffed. "If that is true, why not appoint a woman as treasurer? That should save some problems."

"Ah, but some egos would suffer in the process," Arwen pointed out. "Still, you may be in the right. But shall I speak to her about these lessons of yours?"

"I believe it would be better to speak of it soon than wait for us to bankrupt our countries," Aragorn admitted. "How soon can you speak with her?"

"She is at court now," Arwen informed him. "I shall be able to speak with her come tomorrow's morn."

* * *

Okay, my first attempt at a romance fic first chapter _without_ the character death I love so well. Please give me feedback; I will love you forever! 


	2. Training Finance

**Chapter Two:Training Finance**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any other Tolkien work which lends itself to this work. I did not make any money off of this work. Don't try suing me; I am a high-school student (without a job), and the most you could get off of me is four hundred dollars, which will not even cover court costs.

Thanks to you who reviewed my first chapter. I admit, the purpose of such a short chapter was to see if anyone would think it interesting and worth continuing. Which, apparently, it is.

The dogs Lothíriel has are based on Leonbergers-my favorite giant breed-with a bit more aggression in the temperament. As for my terms, "dog" refers to the male, "bitch" refers to the female. Those are simply the proper terms.

* * *

Éomer and Aragorn thankfully were not in council the next morning but went to inspect the infantry drilling. After a successful inspection, the two headed back to the Citadel. 

"What do you think this lady's answer will be?" Éomer asked offhandedly.

Aragorn shrugged. "I would not know. She may think that it would be above her station, seeing as she is Imrahil's daughter and would thus be very conscious of her position."

"I do not think Imrahil would raise anyone to keep to their high station even when needed," countered Éomer. "His sons are not haughty pigs like some certain nobles I've—."

"My lords," Arwen's voice soared calmly from beyond the corner which she presently turned. "I have an answer for you from Lady Lothíriel."

The two kings waited with bated breath as Arwen paused.

"She has asked me to be present while she instructs you on finance, my lords, but yes, she will teach you."

"Is there a particular reason why she wishes you to be there?" Aragorn queried. Éomer couldn't help but wonder if Aragorn was lying when he said he couldn't read minds; he always seemed to know what Éomer was thinking.

Arwen sighed. "Archaic law, apparently, prohibits an unmarried noblewoman from being in a room with a man she is not directly related to—or men, as the case may be—unchaperoned."

Éomer snorted. "What sort of animal do these lawmakers believe we are?"

Arwen looked down and said gravely, "Laws arise from circumstance. Once, a Steward's second daughter was banished to Near Harad due to the…_result_ of such a situation. As for the subject of archaic law, I would suggest having some scribes go through the law books to search for ordinances which would benefit the public upon their repeal. However, the economy comes first. We expect you in the library at four tomorrow; there will be no council meetings then. Oh, and Éomer King," she looked sharply at said king, "do you have any problems with dogs?"

"No," Éomer shook his head. Why would that matter?

Arwen did not elaborate, but simply nodded. "Very good. Tomorrow, then, my lords."

--

The next day was rather uneventful, though Éomer looked forward to his opportunity to finally learn what that pig of a Treasurer was saying. Even more so, he was interested in finding out how much of what the Treasurer said was actually true. The council today was again of finance. The Treasurer seemed to like the look of utter confusion that he was getting from the two kings.

As the two made their way down the corridor towards the library, Aragorn remarked to his companion, "I must confess this meeting will be interesting. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting the daughter of Lord Imrahil."

" I want to know what your wife meant when she asked about dogs. I did not think economy had very much in common with dogs," Éomer pushed some strands of wayward hair out of his eyes.

Aragorn shrugged. "I do not know either."

They opened the door to find Arwen seated on a window seat alongside a dark-haired girl. The girl looked up to the two men; Éomer could feel his stomach twist. She had some of that same faraway look that the queen had. She was dark-haired, pale-skinned, and grey-eyed, thin yet shapely. All in all, she appeared as if she could be the queen's cousin. Yet the unusual aspects were the two monstrously large dogs sitting at her feet, almost bear-like in appearance. Both dogs surveyed Éomer with loam-colored eyes. Surprisingly, they did not look menacing, but somber and protective of their mistress.

Éomer had not seen this sort of person—well, human, anyway—before, save something similar, yet in a masculine mold on four men in the city. And this young woman looked very much like those men whom Éomer respected greatly.

"Ladies," Aragorn said, bowing slightly as the two ladies rose in greeting.

"My lord Kings," the lady with the dogs said gravely. Her voice was deep and rich; she had doubtless a beautiful alto singing voice. Éomer shook himself mentally. Why should he wonder about how well she could sing? He should be more worried about how well she could handle finance.

"If it would please you to sit," she continued, "I have some old account books that we will be looking at. Over here..."

--

All appearance of control aside, Lothíriel slumped on her bed once she got back to her room. Who knew that the kings who were now in charge of all free mankind knew absolutely nothing about keeping accounts? She even had to explain the double column accounting format, and there had been _column labels_! It almost seemed as if the younger one, Éomer King of Rohan, had never seen numbers written down before. She held her head in her hands; this would be a very, very long job, and she'd need all her resolve for that.

Her dog, Draug, had his head on her knee, which Lothíriel stroked softly. She always loved his dark eyes, which now looked at her in concern for her frustration. She remembered when her father had given that puppy to her when she was sixteen, after she had begged for a dog over six months. "You must care for him yourself," he said seriously. "If you do it well, he will protect you with his life. If you do not treat him well, he will run from you." She had insisted at the time that she would do so; she was far too old to get such a lecture! So she kept her word in entirety. Even that time when the dog had gotten a caltrop in his foot and it had gotten infected, she nursed him back to health by herself. And in turn, the dog had saved her life twice from lone corsairs by raising the alarm. She had gotten the bitch last year after talking to the kennels master of the Dol Amroth palace. Going over books and books of bloodlines, they had finally picked out a suitable mate who turned out to be near perfect; Draug and Glin seemed to like each other very much.

Once Draug was sure his mistress was fine, he went over to his rug by the door and lay down. Lothíriel brushed the dog hair off her long wraparound tunic. She smiled, remembering the time her uncle had seen her attired in that wraparound tunic and wide trousers set that was so fashionable in Harad now. His face had turned a terrible shade of purple at the time, and had only abated once she had pointed out how practical it was. The trouser legs, ending about a handspan above the ankle, would not get dirty in puddles and other less-than-sanitary piles. Practicality always used to be the universal excuse when confronting her uncle; the expression, "It's more sensible this way" had gotten her home free on many occasions.

He also had protested originally when he found out his niece was learning how to use a dirk until Elphir had stated that if she was attacked it would be helpful if she could help, rather than have other people focus on that and have her get in the way. Also, guards couldn't accompany her _everywhere_. The compromise on the guards had been the dogs; they were her guardians and she was their mistress. They were much cheaper to support, could accompany her nearly everywhere, and more loyal than any human could be, so in a sense were far better than humans.

A knock woke her from her remembrances of her late uncle. "Come in," she said.

Arwen opened the door. "I hope I am not troubling you," she began.

"Of course not! Please, sit." Lothíriel gestured to a chair.

"Well, then. That lesson was quite interesting, was it not?" remarked Arwen as she sat down.

Lothíriel sighed and put her head in her hands. "I mean no offence, my Queen, but their Majesties have had no proper education in this before. I am little accustomed to teaching complete beginners, so this lesson was a bit difficult."

"I understand, Lothíriel," said the Queen calmly. "In fact, I did not know how little my husband knew either until today. But he shall learn eventually. He can be marvelously stubborn when he wishes to learn something; Éomer King too."

Lothíriel snorted in a very unladylike way. "I hope so." The shock of what she had just said startled her all of a sudden, but before she could speak, Arwen held up a delicate hand to silence her.

"I fervently hope so too. But I have another request of you, and I wish you to consider it with honesty and take all sides of the issue into account. I have been asked by the council to put together a small group of young women of noble birth to be my maidens. I would ask that you consider a position in this group, but do not consider lightly. Your father and brothers will have an opinion too that may impact your choice, and you have your own desires to consider as well, other than what you suppose to be your duty to your country."

Lothíriel nodded. "I will consider this. My first instinct is to accept, but I must speak to my father before making such a decision."

Arwen nodded. "That is wise. I shall leave you now." The Queen bowed her head and left the room.

Lothíriel chewed on her bottom lip as she did when she was thinking. In such a group she would live in close quarters with others close to her station. Not _of_ her station, she subconsciously reminded herself, as there were no other daughters of princes yet in Gondor; only recently had there come to be another prince! She knew the probable members of this group; all were relatively pleasant. Arwen would never ask a girl, no matter her heritage, to join such a group unless she was agreeable. She would have to continue the lessons with their Majesties, of course, but would she have the time? There must be a way for her to do so; otherwise, the Queen would not have asked her. And her dogs! The Queen would not ask her to give _them_ up? She could do no such thing!

After much thinking, she came to one conclusion: she really did need to talk to her father, and the Queen again.

* * *

See? I've held off character death, character about-to-die and character tragedyfor TWO WHOLE CHAPTERS!Hah! I _can_ do it!

Besides, I bet it wouldn't be interesting if I killed off Lothiriel _this_ early.


End file.
